“I did.” I gazed out the window at the winter white landscape. “Stay in touch. We’ll see what tomorrow is like, but if this is a hint of what’s to come, I don’t want anyone endangering themselves for a paycheck.”
“But you’ll be there,” he said drolly.
“We’ll see. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
“All right. Be safe.”
I texted Hank to update him on the weather situation here, and what was beginning to look like an impromptu day and a half off at the mill. Then I scrolled to Ivy’s number.
She had nothing new to report. It was snowing too hard to do anything outside, so they were playing video games and if they could agree on a movie, they’d watch one later.
“Chase wants to watchElfand he doesn’t even care that it’s not Christmas. Tell him not to be annoying,” Ivy griped.
“Be nice, Ive, and work it out.” Silas was right about my dad energy, I mused as I gave a similar spiel to Chase.
I casually circled the living area to check on my guest while I talked. Silas hadn’t moved much. He sat with his legs outstretched, covered from the waist down by the blanket, his eyes at half-mast and fixed on the fire. I slipped my cell into my pocket and kneeled beside him.
“I’m okay,” he rasped. “Just sort of numb all over. Especially my f-feet.”
“Mind if I take a peek?”
“Go for it. B-but if they’re blue, don’t tell me.”
I hiked the blanket to his calves and rolled one sock off. His foot wasn’t blue, but he was only a shade off cadaver white. I cupped his heel, unthinking, and rubbed his instep and his toes. “You’re still cold.”
“Yeah, but that feels good.”
And now I was giving foot massages.Wow. Under ordinary circumstances, this would have been seriously odd.
“Did you try the tea?” I asked, inclining my chin toward the thermos. “Drinking something warm will help. Or are you hungry? I could make?—”
“Soup.” Silas sat taller.
“You want soup?” I rubbed my jaw. “I can do that. I think I have the ingredients to make chicken noodle?—”
“No, from the grocery store. I bought soup. Did I leave the bags somewhere?” He furrowed his brow, adding, “I can’t remember.”
“They’re in my truck. Glad you reminded me. I’ll grab them now.”
“Thanks. Tomato soup. It’s canned, but it’s the good kind…like organic and sh-shit. Happy to sh-share,” he sputtered, lifting the blanket over his chest.
“Sounds good.” I gave my best stern dad glare and pointed at his chest for good measure. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Ha. Ha.”
I rescued the groceries from the back seat of my truck and cleared a shelf in the fridge for his perishables—eggs, milk, butter, veggies, and some chicken breasts. I left the rest on the counter, setting a can of organic tomato soup aside. I figured it would be easier to heat it on the stove and while we waited, I could whip up a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches.
The fire roared pleasantly, throwing shadows on the opposite end of the great room. Falling snow painted the landscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, and yes…it was cozy and quiet. The perfect afternoon for cuddling up with a book or an old movie and a cup of something warm. Like grilled cheese and soup.
With a stranger.
I poured soup into a bowl, plated two grilled cheeses, and carried everything into the living area like a seasoned waiter.
“How you doin’?”
Silas held up a trembling hand. “This is starting to freak me out.”
Me too.
